Funeral for Mitch Carter

If you have ever spent time in an airport, you have probably found yourself standing beneath one of those large boards filled with flight numbers, cities, and times. One side lists the flights that are arriving. The other lists the flights that are departing.

That word—departure—usually means someone is leaving. A family stands at the gate, says goodbye, and watches someone they love walk away. There may be tears because they can no longer go with them. There is an empty place beside them where that person had been. But departure does not mean disappearance.

When a plane departs from one airport, it is already expected at another. The people standing at the gate see someone leaving, but somewhere else, others are preparing for that person’s arrival. The same flight that brings sorrow at one end brings welcome at the other. Every departure has a destination.

Near the end of his life, Paul wrote, “The time for my departure is near.” He did not speak of his death as defeat. He understood that he was leaving one place to arrive at another. He was departing this earthly life and arriving in the kingdom of the God he had loved and served. Today, from where we stand, we feel the pain of Mitch’s departure. We see the empty place he has left behind, and we grieve because we cannot travel with him yet. But by faith, we also know what was waiting for him on the other side.

Mitch did not simply leave this life. He arrived in the life to come. He departed a body weakened by cancer and arrived where pain cannot follow. He departed the arms of those who loved him here and arrived in the arms of the Savior who had loved him all along. We stood at the place of departure. But Jesus stood at the place of arrival.

There are moments when words seem too small. We gather today carrying sorrow because Mitch mattered to us. We feel the emptiness left behind when someone we love is no longer where we expect him to be. We grieve for Jennifer, for Mitch’s family, for his church family, and for all who walked beside him through his long struggle with cancer. Cancer took its toll on Mitch. It weakened his body. It changed the rhythm of his days. It brought treatments, uncertainty, weariness, and pain. There were battles he never asked to fight and burdens he never would have chosen to carry.

But cancer did not have the final word. That final word belongs to Jesus Christ. Near the end of his own life, the Apostle Paul wrote these words: “For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time for my departure is near. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.”

Paul knew that his earthly life was coming to an end. He did not pretend otherwise. He did not deny the reality before him or cover it with empty words. He said plainly, “The time for my departure is near.” But there is no sense of defeat in Paul’s words. There is sorrow, perhaps. There is weariness. There is the solemn awareness that his earthly journey is almost over. But there is also confidence. There is peace. There is victory. Paul did not say, “I am being destroyed.” He said, “I am departing.”

That word matters. A departure is not an ending; it is a leaving from one place in order to arrive at another. Paul understood that death would not erase him. Death would carry him from this life into the presence of the Lord he had trusted and served. That is the Christian hope we proclaim today. We are not here to pretend that death does not hurt. It does. We are not here to say that faith removes our grief. It does not. Even Jesus wept at the grave of His friend Lazarus.

Faith does not keep us from shedding tears. Faith tells us that our tears are not the end of the story. Mitch fought a difficult fight. Cancer took much from him, but it could not take away the faith that held him. His body grew tired, but his trust in Christ remained steadfast. He continued to love the church. He continued to love singing. He continued to believe the promises of God. His faith was not merely something he spoke about when life was easy. It became the ground beneath his feet when life became hard.

Paul said, “I have fought the good fight.” The good fight is not fought with clenched fists or angry words. It is fought whenever we continue trusting God when life gives us every reason to be afraid. It is fought when we pray even though we do not understand. It is fought when we worship while carrying pain. It is fought when we hold on to Christ because we know He is holding on to us. Mitch fought that fight. Paul said, “I have finished the race.” A race is not measured by whether every mile was easy. It is measured by whether the runner remained on the course and crossed the finish line.

There were difficult miles in Mitch’s race. There were steep hills and dark valleys. There were days when simply taking the next step required courage. Yet he continued forward, surrounded by the people who loved him and sustained by the grace of God. And beside him was Jennifer. I had the privilege of marrying Mitch and Jennifer. On that day, they made promises to one another—to love and cherish one another in sickness and in health, in times of joy and in times of hardship. None of us standing there that day could know exactly where life would lead them or what those promises would one day require. But we have seen those promises lived out.

Jennifer stayed by Mitch’s side. She cared for him, encouraged him, loved him, and walked with him through the hardest days. She laid her hands on him and prayed for her husband and he would say “amen” with her. The love they shared was beautiful to witness because it was more than sentiment. It was faithful love. It was love that remained when the road became difficult. It was love that kept showing up. That kind of love gives us a glimpse of the love of Christ—the love that does not abandon us in suffering, does not turn away from our weakness, and does not leave us when the shadows deepen. Jennifer, your love for Mitch mattered. Your presence mattered. You could not remove the cancer, but you made certain that he did not face it alone. You honored the promises you made to him, and you gave all of us a living example of faithful love.

When we remember Mitch, we should not allow cancer to become the largest part of his story, because there was so much more to the man we knew and loved. Mitch enjoyed playing golf, and several of us would get together from time to time for a round. Mitch had an unusual swing—I never quite understood how it worked—but I know I could never beat him. He loved being outdoors, especially when he could go fishing. But more than golf, fishing, or anything else he enjoyed, Mitch loved his family. That love could be seen in the way he lived, in the priorities he kept, and in his devotion to those God had placed in his life. Mitch was a godly family man—faithful to his family, faithful to his church, and faithful to his Lord.

Paul then says, “I have kept the faith.” That may be the most important statement of all. Paul did not say, “I understood everything.” He did not say, “I received every answer I wanted.” He did not say, “I was spared from every hardship.” He said, “I have kept the faith.” Mitch did not receive the healing we prayed for in the way we wanted it to come. That truth hurts, and we should not pretend otherwise. We wanted more time. We wanted the cancer defeated here. We wanted Mitch restored to strength and able to return fully to the life he loved. But there is a healing greater than anything medicine can provide. There is a victory cancer cannot reverse. There is a life death cannot touch.

Mitch has now received that healing. The body that cancer weakened has been left behind. The suffering has ended. The weariness is gone. Mitch has crossed the finish line and entered the presence of the Lord. He now knows the victory Paul spoke about. Paul called it “the crown of righteousness.” That crown is not a prize earned because a person lived a perfect life. None of us has done that. It is the gift Christ gives to those who place their trust in Him. Jesus won that victory through His death and resurrection. Because Christ walked out of the tomb, those who belong to Him will also rise.

Death may have interrupted Mitch’s song here, but it has not silenced him. The man who loved to sing is now part of a song greater than any we have heard on earth. He is worshiping in the presence of the One he trusted. He is seeing by sight what he held onto by faith. Today, we can say of Mitch what Paul said of himself: He fought the good fight. He finished the race. He kept the faith. Cancer may have marked the final stretch of Mitch’s earthly race, but cancer did not win. Death did not win. The grave did not win. Jesus Christ has won.

That is why we grieve, but not as those who have no hope. We grieve because we love Mitch and will miss him. We grieve because an empty place remains in our lives. But beneath our grief is a promise stronger than death. The same Lord who received Paul has received Mitch. The same grace that carried Mitch through his suffering has carried him safely home. The same Christ who held him through every difficult day holds him now.

As Mitch’s time drew near, he would reach out and cry, “I can see Jesus.” And Jesus could see Mitch. Jesus came to walk with him through the valley—with His rod and His staff to calm his fears and comfort his heart. Then the Good Shepherd led Mitch beyond the valley: into green pastures, beside still waters, and into the presence of the One who restores the soul. Today, Mitch’s head is anointed, his cup overflows, and he dwells in the house of the Lord forever.

And one day, all who trust in Christ will finish their own race. We too will lay down the burdens we have carried. We too will cross that final threshold. And through the grace of Jesus, we will find that death was never the end. It was only a departure. So today, we entrust Mitch to the God who loved him, redeemed him, sustained him, and has now welcomed him home. His fight is over. His race is finished. His faith has become sight. And his victory is complete. Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.